Unplanned Journey
by Hahukum Konn
Summary: A teenager, living an ordinary life in 2005, wakes up one morning in Tulsa, Oklahoma, in 1966. This is the story of his adjustment to a different era. Rated for some language and occasional violence. Rewrite of older version.
1. From One Moment to the Next

**Unplanned Journey**  
Chapter 1 (From One Moment to the Next)

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

- - -

_Archive retrieval date: 06-01-2050_

_Authorization: Identity disk, biometric properties, and permission from Director confirmed as valid for Personnel ID #14601332._

_(Journal entries as transcribed by P. M. Curtis, circa 1995-2005, stored on optical media known as a Compact Disc. Recovered from an uninhabited area after a tornado struck the city of Tulsa; citizen who recovered this has been questioned and released. Subsequent law enforcement possession and analysis handled under the strictest of confidentiality restrictions. This information is classified under Security Directive Alpha-511, designated TOP SECRET, NOFORN, EYES ONLY.)_

- - -

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada. Friday, March 11, 2005.

Tulsa, Oklahoma, United States. Saturday, March 12, 1966.

If you noticed anything strange about the dates, you're not the only one. I have no idea how I got from point A to point B, and the answer to how this happened is probably best left to the geeks who study quantum mechanics and parallel universes for a living; I'm not even sure _they_ would be able to explain what happened to me.

As of right now, writing this journal up before I start school, it's August 20, 1966 and I'm eighteen years old. My birthday is March 26, 1987, so do the math – or at least try to. Time travel has a way of messing with your head.

My name is Shawn Daggett. As of my sudden jump from Vancouver to Tulsa, across thirty-nine years, I was seventeen years old. Some examples of my home life:

- - -

I came home after term report cards came out. Mom was home from her real estate job, relaxing with a cup of coffee and the day's newspaper. She loved doing the crossword puzzle.

I'd already looked at my report card, so I knew the news was mostly good – but my parents _were_ a touch more paranoid than I was about getting good grades. I said, "Hey, Mom, the report cards came out. Here's mine."

"Wonderful, Shawn! Let's see how you did. Hmm... English 11, A. Chemistry 11, B. Biology 11, B. French 11, A. Social Studies 11…"

Her face went blank.

Shit, I _knew_ it! Mom had seen that damn C+ and was going to give me a hard time about it. She said, "Shawn, we've discussed your Social Studies grade before. Why do you have another C+ in Social Studies? Last time, you said it was a bad test mark. I won't have you throwing away your academic career. As it is you'll have to go to a college instead of straight to university!"

Defensively, I muttered, "OK, Mom. Geez!"

My mom's face seemed to relax as she said, "Shawn, look – your father and I, we just want you to have _opportunities_ in life. You know how hard it is to get a job with only a high school education these days."

I decided to 'fess up. "Yeah, OK. Well, the truth is… um, I kind of didn't do a couple of homework assignments."

My Dad's face at dinner mirrored my Mom's disappointment at those words, revealing my slacking-off, and he said, "Shawn, son, you need to keep your grades up. The rest of these look fine, though. Your Math is a nice solid B and your Metalworking mark is also a B. But if I see you keep getting C+ grades in your Social Studies we'll have to discuss whether you'll be allowed to go to your friends' end-of-year parties."

That didn't stop me from whining about doing the dishes that night, though.

- - -

Those end of year parties – man! We'd started doing them in grade eight, and they got wilder every year. My parents were really cool about letting me go, even though they _had_ to have known there wasn't just innocent music and dancing.

I remembered the one we had at the end of my grade ten year. Jason Schreck, my best buddy from when we were in elementary school together, had managed to convince his parents that he'd keep a tight leash on anyone who came in (hah, fat chance!) and they agreed to let him have his shindig on the weekend they were due to visit his uncle.

So there I was, in front of his house, and he had a pretty awesome CD playing, and straightaway I went and hogged his Playstation 2, playing _Crazy Taxi_, while he made smartass comments about my driving skill (or lack of it) in the game. His parents had this really kickass forty-inch TV set with good speakers, and the game was way more fun to play at his house than mine – my parents stuck with the old 27-inch we had from 2000.

Some other friends of mine showed up, and sure enough the beer started flowing. There was always someone's older brother willing to help get the alcohol, even if nobody ever actually said who picked the stuff up. I got bored of never finishing the city loop in _Crazy Taxi_, and Jason and I each got a beer. He yelled, "End of year, man!"

I grinned, and we clinked bottles. We had our impromptu chugging contest, and I only quit when my stomach threatened nausea, noting that I had about a quarter of the bottle left while Jason had a third. I smirked, yelling, "I win!"

He clapped me on the shoulder and grinned, then pointed over at a couple of cute girls and began buzzing in my ear about how he'd like to get us on a double-date with them.

- - -

As you can see, a pretty ordinary life. Friends, parties, school, the usual.

The night it happened, I had no inkling anything was really unusual. I was hanging out at Jason's house, shooting the breeze and playing a couple games on his Playstation 2; I got bored of it and said I was taking off early. I got home, saw the clock read 9 PM, and fooled around on the computer for a bit. By 9:30 I realized I wasn't accomplishing anything worthwhile since none of my friends were on the instant-message networks, and the game forum websites were sorely lacking in activity, and so I went to bed. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I dropped straight off to sleep, and at some point I was dreaming I was in this crazy whirlwind of pyrotechnic exploding stars and suns that looked all warped, like when you looked in those fun-house mirrors at carnivals.

When I woke up, at first I thought I was still dreaming, or the victim of some kind of practical joke. I was resting on something hard and stiff, but as soon as I put my hand down, I snapped to full wakefulness. I blurted, "What the he—", only to choke off as I took in my surroundings.

It was twilight, and I could see in the early dawn that I was in some kind of grassy lot, and there were houses nearby. I stood up, trying to get my bearings, thinking to myself, _Oh, man. What the HELL is going on here?!_

* * *

Author Notes:

This is the new version. I'd like to thank Artemis for the beta work, plus mars on fire and NittanyLizard for their excellent help and suggestions, as well as Marauder and the Q for some ideas. If I've left anyone out I sincerely apologize and I'll edit this chapter posthaste to reflect that. The update frequency will be a little sporadic but rest assured I'll try to be consistent about chapters and not leave them hanging for weeks on end. :)

The main reason I am rewriting in the first place is to take the good parts of the old version, and further remove cliche or Deus Ex Machina type elements and make this a truly excellent fic.


	2. Strange Encounters

**Unplanned Journey**  
Chapter 2 (Strange Encounters)

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

- - -

I stiffly worked the kinks out of my back, then half-walked, half-stumbled out of the grassy lot, wincing as I realized I didn't have any shoes on, just my socks, knee-length shorts and T-shirt. I absently reached into my back pocket and mentally swore as I realized I had left my wallet on the table beside my bed.

I could probably pass for "halfway decent", but that was pushing it a little; my clothes had some stains on them from when I was laying on the lot, although I was able to brush the grass off. I picked a random direction and began walking, taking in the surroundings.

The first thing I noticed was that there seemed to be a lot more old cars around, albeit new-looking, and the few guys I saw walking on the sidewalk were dressed a bit differently: slicked-back hair, faded jeans, indifferently-cleaned shirts. I started feeling like I'd stumbled across a movie set for a film based in the 1960s.

Or maybe it was Elvis Impersonation Day and I missed the memo.

As I began leaving the residential neighborhood and saw it give way to shops and grocery stores, the traffic began picking up, and the way people dressed started to change; I began seeing more people dressed in pants, with comparatively little grease in their hair, and the girls seemed to generally be wearing dresses and a lot had Jackie Kennedy or beehive hairstyles.

My sense of unease began to grow, as I wondered why they were all looking at me funny (did I stand out _that_ much with no shoes? Or was it my clothes?). On top of that, I noticed all the prices in the windows were wrong, like someone had marked them down to 1960s levels. The advertisements looked even more genuinely 1960s-style than any of the retro-style ads I saw on posters on the bus sometimes.

The sun was starting to shine fully, and the light was good enough to see some strange mountains in the distance. My sense of unease continued to grow; I _knew_ the way the mountains in the north of Vancouver looked. These weren't the same. However, my attention was momentarily distracted…

I saw an absolutely immaculate pale green 1965 Mustang convertible coming down the road in my direction. Not a thing was wrong with the car; it_ gleamed_ under the sun, and the people driving it were dressed immaculately. The guy wore the cleanest shirt I'd seen. Two guys were in the back seat, just as well-dressed as the driver, and once they noticed me, they all sneered and began making some rude gestures.

As the driver slowed down briefly, one of the passengers chucked an empty pack of smokes at me, startling me in its suddenness. He yelled, "Hey, white trash!"

The guy who threw the smokes guffawed as the driver _vroom_ed the engine, taking off down the street, screeching the tires as he veered left down another road.

My heart rate slowed down again as I looked around in puzzlement and some alarm, wondering if perhaps I ought to find a place of safety – but _where was I?_

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be answered right at the moment as I quite literally bumped into two guys who grabbed my arms and hauled me down the alley they'd materialized from.

As they slammed me against the back wall of one of the shops, I frantically looked up and down the alley, wondering how to get out of there. The one that looked kind of dumb snickered, saying, "Hey, Carl, you think he's got any dough? Angela said we were gettin' a bit short this month for rent 'cuz the old man drank it away again. Dumbshit wearin' no shoes was an easy mark, huh?"

The taller of the two, who looked a bit smarter, but meaner, snarled, "Curly, why don't you just shut the hell up and quit blabbin' your plans in front of the guys we're gonna roll?"

Before I could protest my lack of money, the guy punched me in the stomach. Hard.

I collapsed to the pavement, on my knees, wheezing as I gasped out, "I don't have any money, I swear!"

"Fuckin' liar!" That, I think, was 'Curly'. At any rate, I got a boot to my chest after that.

A few blows later, the final insult came when I felt one of them yank my hair viciously, pulling my face off the pavement. As I struggled to focus, I felt a fist crash into my nose, and I felt something trickling (or gushing? Not that I was exactly in shape to tell at the moment) out of my nose.

Hands swiftly patted me down, and I heard a voice say in an annoyed tone, "Shit. He was right – no damn money at all, not even a wallet. Fucker. Wastin' my time. I oughtta…"

His reason for trailing off became clear when I heard a distinctive _snick_, and I shuddered as I realized what that meant. I saw the light glinting off something in the guy's hand, and even with my currently blurred vision I knew that had to be a knife. I went very still, praying he wasn't going to use it on me.

I saw the dumb-looking guy (Curly, I dimly remembered) waving his hands around as he blurted, "Hey! Whoa! What the hell? Put that away! You don't need a murder rap, Carl! You just got outta jail for chrissake!"

"Curly, you wanna shut the fuck up and not tell me what I can do with my own goddamn knife? Fucker here made me waste my time for nothin'."

The guy named Curly uncertainly moved his hand towards the other guy's arm, apparently wanting him to not have the knife out.

The guy with the knife folded it back up, saying disgustedly, "Okay, fine. Have it your way, Curly. Stay in that kiddie school of yours and skip classes. Why the hell you tag along with me I'll never know. And_ you,_ punk, stay there and don't move."

I felt a sharp blow against my stomach, and it took all my will to not vomit – though I _did _feel some very unpleasant dry heaves. I decided it was very nice to relax as I heard the boots stomp away, and promptly passed out.

I lay there doing an excellent impression of a rock for some time, I think. I remember a gentle hand shaking my shoulder waking me up. The voice was strange. Something finally clicked in my mind, and I realized all the voices I'd heard today had a noticeable accent. Almost southern-state American. "Hey. You okay, there?"

I mumbled something that was meant to indicate that I was feeling the effects of an elephant troupe dancing on my head in triple time.

I felt myself being rolled over, and heard an intake of breath. "Glory, whoever got you sure did a number on ya. Think you can stand up?"

I blearily opened my eyes and registered the vague impression that Elvis was looking at me. The elephant troupe dancing on my head decided to use cymbals, too, since my head began hurting some more. I groggily attempted to stand up, fell back onto the ground, and felt the guy's hands gently lifting me up.

I got a better look at Elvis in the sun, and realized it wasn't him, just someone who had the same greased hair and sideburns to go with it. He had on a denim jacket, a halfway-clean white shirt, and faded blue jeans. His hair was brown, and even though I must have looked a sight he still seemed to have an irrepressible grin.

"Y'all sure got worked over. Name's Two-Bit, by the way."

_Two-Bit_? I thought. Yeah, okay. Can't be anything worse than what's already happened to me. _Bizarro world, meet Shawn Daggett._

I mumbled, "Hey."

My vision was beginning to clear up a bit more, and I could see we were still standing in the alley, not too far from the street. I wondered if I could get to the hospital or something.

Two-Bit was talking. "You gonna be okay? Who jumped you?"

"Uh, damn. I dunno. I feel like I got run over by a truck. These two guys – Carl and Curly? I dunno. They beat me up 'cuz they wanted money. But I know one of 'em might have wanted to kill me after they found I didn't have any. Threatened me with a knife." I knew I was rambling and mumbling, slurring my words but I couldn't quit.

Two-Bit seemed to know what I was talking about, because his voice changed. It grew stern, and he said, "Shit. Curly Shepard taggin' along with one of Tim's hoods, sounds like. Dumb kid's gonna get himself mixed up in somethin' no good one of these days.

"We better get walkin'. You new in town?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that," I said quietly.

"Yeah? Well, you got any place to stay?"

"Uh, I don't think so…" I trailed off, not even sure if I was anywhere close to home.

"Well, sure looks like you need a doctor. You sure you ain't got any money?"

I mumbled, "Yeah. I… my wallet. I don't have it."

"C'mon with me, then. I know a place that ain't too far from here."

We walked, or I should say Two-Bit walked and I half-stumbled, to this free clinic nearby. Luckily (or so Two-Bit said) it was still early enough that it wasn't crowded. Supposedly it got real bad in the afternoon with mothers, their sick kids, and people who generally had no place else to go.

The receptionist took one look at me and got the doctor posthaste ("Dr. Ferguson!"). _Amazing_, I thought. _I'm some place – no idea where – and I actually get instant medical service. Last time, I had to wait ten minutes at the family doctor's._

Two-Bit seated himself on a chair and began fiddling with a magazine as I went into the exam room.

In the exam room, I sat on the raised mattress, and I got a good look at the doctor. His hair was combed with almost-military precision, and he wore some old-style horn-rims. I figured him to be in his early thirties.

Dr. Ferguson said, "Kid, you look pretty bad, and I've seen a few in my day. You dizzy, feeling sick, anything like that?"

"No."

"'Kay. How many fingers do you see?"

I saw three, and said so.

"Ringing in your ears?"

"No."

"This is gonna hurt your eyes for a sec, but I want you to focus on the light as best as you can. All right?"

He was right. The penlight in my eyes made my eyes water as I blinked rapidly to clear the afterimages.

"Mm-hmm. Pupils are normally dilated. Looks like there's no concussion. Good. How 'bout your ribs? Feel any stabbing pain when you breathe?"

I tried breathing, and it hurt, but it felt more like a dull ache. I said as much.

"Okay. Sounds like maybe a bruised rib. Just take it easy on that for a while. I see you've got a bloody nose that's mostly healed now. Nose doesn't seem broken. Okay, I'm going to check you for any broken bones, though I don't think you have any. Need you to take off that shirt."

I felt a bit embarrassed as the doctor had to put his hands pretty much everywhere, but he was professional about it, and at the end of it he said, "Except for your ribs – I saw you wince when I had to put pressure on them so you likely do have a bruised rib – you're okay. External bruising and such will heal on their own. Before you go, I'm going to wash the cut on your elbow and let you wash that dried blood off your face. You can put your shirt back on."

The mercurochrome stung where the doctor put it, but having the chance to wash my face off was very welcome. I felt a bit better after seeing my freshly-washed face, and noticed my nose indeed didn't seem broken. _Thank goodness for small favors_, I thought sardonically.

"Say, kid, where's your shoes?"

_Shit. What do I say?_

I blurted out, "Um, got rolled. Yeah, I got rolled."

Dr. Ferguson didn't look like he believed me, but went into 'wrapping things up' mode, as he said, "All right. You're done here. Remember, any dizziness, sudden vertigo, anything like that – go to a hospital. No charge for this visit – it's a free clinic in case your friend out there didn't tell you."

I said, "Thanks."

As I exited the clinic, I noticed it seemed very sparsely furnished, and everything looked about as low-budget as you could get and still get away with calling it decent. Two-Bit stood, and we walked outside. He said his good-byes and sauntered off. I squinted at the sunlight, and realized I needed some damn shoes. But where would I find them? I had no idea.

_So be it_, I thought as I continued walking the streets of this strange place.

* * *

Author Notes:

Thanks go to Artemis for the beta work. :) Also, I would like to heartily thank her for letting me use her OC, Carl. :)


	3. Startling Discoveries

**Unplanned Journey**  
Chapter 3 (Startling Discoveries)

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

- - -

I felt a lot better after leaving that clinic, and I remembered that I'd noticed the city I was in looked different from anything I'd seen in Vancouver. The way people talked were different, too. _Where was I?_

I decided to keep walking in more or less a random fashion, and I got the first inkling that things were more than just a _little_ wrong when I came across an open-air news stall, which was basically this tiny shop with one guy selling dozens of newspapers and some magazines. So you got the _New York Times_, the _International Herald Tribune_, that sort of thing.

I grabbed up a paper called _The Tulsa World_, not really registering the old guy exclaiming at my actions (in retrospect, it was clear he thought I was going to take off without paying), and looked at the date.

_March 12, 1966!_

Nineteen sixty-six?!

I blinked.

Once.

Twice.

It still stubbornly refused to change from the year nineteen sixty-six.

I dropped the newspaper, hyperventilating. My mouth went dry, and I felt my legs starting to give out. Said old guy saw me, likely figured out something was going to happen, and promptly shoved a chair under me as I weakly collapsed, barely registering anything around me. The guy was saying something – I even saw his lips moving, but I didn't know what he was saying.

I put my head in my hands, elbows resting on my knees as I tried to process the unfathomable: I had somehow gone backwards in time and who knew how far across North America. Granted, the weird appearance of the mountains should have clued me in, but in my defence I had other things to worry about.

Absurdly, I felt like I was Marty McFly in _Back to the Future_, only I didn't have a time machine with a flux capacitor to get me back to 2005 – I was _stuck_ here!

A faint thread of hope occurred to me; seizing it with the vigor of a drowning man, I grabbed the old guy's sleeve and looked at him. He said, "Son? You feelin' any better there? You went whiter 'n a ghost and you looked like you were gonna faint right in front of me."

I rasped, "I'm fine." I licked my lips, swallowed nervously, and continued.

I pointed at the _Tulsa World_ paper I'd dropped. "That newspaper there, it's for the city I'm in right now, yeah?"

The guy looked at me funny and said, "Yeah, kid. This here's Tulsa, Oklahoma. What'd you do, fly in or something? You don't sound like you're from around here."

Disregarding the question, and hanging on to that thread of hope, I said, "Um, listen. I know this is gonna sound like a stupid question, but just _who_ is the President of the United States right now?"

"Kid,_ everyone_ knows that. Lyndon B. Johnson. You sure you didn't whack yourself on the head some time ago?"

_Shit. Shit. SHIT!_

Okay, I allowed maybe the old guy was stuck in the past, but to be _that_ out of touch with reality? Fat chance. It was far more likely that maybe _I_ had to do the adjusting.

I decided to save the mental breakdown for later, stood back up, and kept walking. Fortunately, my lack of shoes hadn't gotten the attention of the local authorities yet; people probably assumed I was just a bit crazy.

_Lucky me._

I thought too soon, as I found myself accosted by more of the same disreputable-looking gentlemen who'd so charmingly requested all of my money earlier that day. This time, they seemed more interested in just hassling me.

There were three guys. One was wearing a fairly standard outfit for the people I'd seen near the grassy lot: white T-shirt, jeans. The second was wearing a checkered shirt and black slacks. The last one had on a denim jacket, sort of like Two-Bit's, but much more ragged, and he wore a different sort of pants – corduroys, probably.

Denim Jacket shoved me against No Jacket and said, "What's a guy like you doin' on our turf, huh? You figure you can get past us just 'cuz you didn't grease your hair or put on any pants?"

They shoved me around a bit more, making me feel like a pinball in a game machine, and I wondered how the hell I was gonna get out of _this_ situation. I tried ducking under Checkered Shirt's arms and managed to run about ten feet before they grabbed me again. Just as I was about to get free facial surgery from Denim Jacket, I heard a guy yell, "Hey! Leggo that guy! NOW!"

I was shoved against the nearest building, and I got my bearings. I saw Two-Bit rushing up with a tall guy, whose entire face meant business, and he was fingering what looked a lot like a knife handle. The three guys hassling me looked a bit wary of the new guy and Two-Bit. Which meant that I should probably stay out of the way.

A bit nervously, one of the guys said, "Uh, hey, Pearce."

"Don't 'hey, Pearce' me, asshole. Who said you could go around hassling people on Shepard's turf?"

This seemed to get the other guy's dander up. Checkered Shirt actually stuck his jaw out as he said, "This ain't your turf, buddy. This moron here is on _our_ turf. See that street sign there? That says Tiber Street. And your man Shepard's in McAlester, so what're_ you_ gonna do about it?"

_Did he just call me a moron? Asshole._

In one of my less-brilliant moments I stalked up and said, "Who're you calling a moron?"

I realized I'd made a mistake as soon as I saw Two-Bit's wince out the corner of my eye, and both Pearce and Checkered Shirt stuck their fingers in my chest, hard, saying almost simultaneously, "Butt out, jerk."

_Ow. That hurt._

Pearce pointed to the sign and said, "And you see the other street? That's Main. This here's the Ribbon, stupid. And that makes it _my_ outfit's turf. It's two on three, but if I tell Tim you guys were tryin' to make a move on his turf him and Dallas Winston'll make mincemeat of you guys. Shoot, I bet Winston wouldn't mind helpin' make a down payment on that right now."

Checkered Shirt sneered and guffawed, "Yeah, sure. You keep him in your back pocket or somethin'?"

"Hey, you know what a telephone is? See that one there at the corner? Who's to say I wasn't on that phone with Winston?"

Menacingly, Pearce took a step forward, raising the knife, and the three guys decided discretion was the better part of valor and _finally_ took off.

Two-Bit snickered and said, "Good bluff there, Bill. Them guys're dumber than a box of rocks if they actually believed that line about ol' Dally."

Pearce (Bill?) turned to look at me, and although he didn't have a mean look about him, that knife in his hand was enough to make me unconsciously raise my hands, saying, "I don't wanna make any trouble, man."

He wasn't having any of it, and sneered, saying, "I didn't come here just to save your sorry ass, and if I have to tell Tim Shepard some newbie in town started a turf war between the Tigers and his outfit, you better believe he'll come after ya. You got me?"

I nodded so fast I thought my head would come off.

Pearce stuck his finger in my chest again, poking me as he said, "Okay. Whatcha doin' down here anyway?"

Trying not to wince, I replied, "Just walking around. Honest. I didn't know this was your, um, turf."

"You ain't a spy for any outfit? You don't sound local, but I ain't takin' my chances."

"No way."

Pearce seemed to ponder that, squinting at me, and after a few moments something about him relaxed a bit, and I felt the situation ease a little. He looked over at Two-Bit.

Two-Bit apparently decided the time was right to help that along, saying, "Bill, he's all right. I bumped into this guy earlier, and helped him down to the free clinic."

"Where was that?"

"Shoot, way over by where the Curtises live – maybe five or ten minutes, you know that little strip of shops Tim's boys sometimes go to."

Bill Pearce, I gathered his name was, squinted at me again and said, "Mm-hmm. By the way, I heard Curly sayin' he and Carl fought some guy who didn't have no shoes, and _you _ain't got any shoes. Way he told it, _you_ started it."

I backed up a step, swallowing, and Two-Bit seemed to realize that I didn't want to get on anybody's wrong side, and he said, "Whoa! Hold on there, man. Bill here, him and me, we get along okay. I'm sure we can work out somethin', right? Bill? And, uh, what's your name?"

I stuttered, "Sh-Shawn."

Bill said, "Okay. You didn't start anything with Curly? Or Carl?"

"I didn't, I swear."

Bill shoved the knife handle in his pocket, and the tension seemed to ease further as his face lost some of its hardness. "All right, I'll take you at your word on this one. You don't exactly look the type to start a fight. But now I gotta go yell at Carl and Curly for not figurin' out who has money and who don't – sounds like the dumbasses were tryin' to roll you and wanted to make themselves look good. But you keep this dweeb's nose clean, Two-Bit, 'cuz the next time I might not wanna save him."

Bill Pearce walked away without another word. Shakily, I breathed a sigh of relief, and wiped the sweat off my face with the front of my shirt. I gasped, "Jesus. I thought I was a goner."

"You almost was. Things are kinda tense right now between them two outfits and Bill's got better things to do than threaten a bunch of dumbass middle-rank bums from another outfit to save your bacon. Not that I hold it against ya, you understand; you're new here, but he don't naturally trust people the way I do. Speakin' of which, I think we oughtta get you some new shoes."

Relieved that Two-Bit at least didn't hold a grudge, I said, "Um… I don't have any money, you remember."

Grinning irrepressibly, he said, "Never question Uncle Two-Bit's ability to get anythin' ya need, Shawn. C'mon, let's go find my car somewhere in this damn city."

* * *

Author Notes:

Many thanks to Artemis for the beta work :) And thanks also go to mars on fire for letting me use her OC, Bill Pearce.


	4. Fitting In

**Unplanned Journey**  
Chapter 4 (Fitting In)

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

- - -

Two-Bit and I found his car parked about ten minutes' walking time away, near a street corner whose signs read Pickett and Sutton. Along the way, I said, "What brought you out here, anyway?"

"Parked here, walked up the Ribbon and bumped into Bill hangin' out with my sister over at Jay's. That's when he bumped into Carl and Curly and heard the story about you, and decided to take a walk to see if some of the guys in the Tiber Street Tigers – that's one of the other outfits in this city – was maybe itchin' for a little trouble. Lucky for you, anyway. He don't leave anythin' to chance if he can help it."

Nodding, I said, "Thanks for running interference there; that Bill guy looked like he meant business."

"Well, just keep your head down and don't go scufflin' with anybody else. Changin' the subject, how're your feet?"

As if his words had been a signal, my feet chose that moment to tell me that walking in just socks really ached and hurt like hell, and I winced.

Fortunately we were close to the intersection, and I breathed in relief as I sat in his car, which was an old Plymouth sedan, probably a '50 or '51. It was missing a headlight, and Two-Bit's words weren't exactly reassuring: "Now, just hold on and this car might not need a push-start. C'mon, baby, start up for me there."

He turned the key, and the car fired up throatily. As Two-Bit let the engine run for a bit, I looked at the car's interior, feeling a bit like a kid in a candy store. Everything in the car was authentically early-1950s vintage and I couldn't help but grin and chuckle.

"What's so funny? Not that I mind, since I am after all a humorous fellow myself."

"Nothing. Just that I like this car and all."

Two-Bit eyed me skeptically, cocking one eyebrow up. "This car is beat all to hell and you like it? You got weird taste in cars."

I sank back in the seat, chuckling again, and just watched the surroundings in abstracted fashion as I tried to process the fact that I was, indeed, in 1960s America while Two-Bit put the car in gear and drove.

Before long, we were outside a mini-mall of shops, among them a thrift store advertising clothes and other miscellaneous knick-knacks. Two-Bit said, "Wait here a sec… actually, I need a diversion. Go in first and start pokin' around. I ain't been here before so I should be good for a few minutes."

Puzzled, I stepped out of the car and gingerly walked up to the store, wishing my feet wouldn't hurt so damn much. I had absolutely no idea what the hell Two-Bit was on about, but I decided to see what he was going to do.

I went inside, and sure enough the saleslady at the counter gave me the hairy eyeball as I tried to look innocent while walking up to the counter. Along the way I noticed all the stuff in the store, some of which seemed to go back to the First World War. I noticed a pyramid with the all-seeing eye thing on it, and brought it to the woman, saying lamely, "Um, how much is this?"

She pursed her lips and said thinly, "Five dollars."

_Five bucks?_ After I mentally converted that to money in 2005, I nearly snorted at the realization that she essentially wanted twenty-five bucks; talk about overpriced! I said, "Maybe later."

I put the pyramid thing back on the shelf where it had been sitting next to a carved Indian and an old harmonica, and walked around, randomly picking up and putting down stuff. The lady kept staring at me every time I looked in her direction.

After about five minutes of this, I got fed up with nervously looking at the lady and was wondering what Two-Bit was up to, when I heard the_ honk_ outside. I left the shop, feeling the lady's eyes on me all the way.

Somehow, Two-Bit had gotten in and out without the lady even noticing – he was right about the diversion thing, not to mention I was so distracted by all the fifties paraphernalia you could get for ridiculously cheap prices. He tossed a bundle at me after we were on the road, and I yelped, "Holy geez, how'd you get this stuff?"

Two-Bit had gotten me a pair of jeans, a red-and-black plaid shirt and a white undershirt, as well as some shoes. His wide grin got even wider as realization dawned on me; he'd swiped the stuff! I at first felt shocked, and then saw the humor in the situation and began chuckling._ Geez, what a character._

Unfortunately, my ribs ached when I laughed a bit too hard, and I winced, easing back into the seat again.

- - -

After more driving around, during which I rolled down the window, feeling the breeze against me as I tried to memorize locations, but wasn't that successful, we ended up at a gas station called the "DX". A brown-haired, good-looking guy came out, and Two-Bit jumped out of the car, grinning as he bellowed, "Sodapop! Just the man I need to see."

Sodapop (?!), apparently despite himself, smiled, saying, "And just what crazy plan have you got _this_ time? If it's like the time you figured you could make money sellin' fake celebrity maps to tourists, leave me out of it."

Two-Bit and Sodapop migrated over to my side of the car as Two-Bit replied.

"Now, Sodapop, that was just my natural adventurism comin' to the fore. Anyway, lookit, my new buddy here, his name's Shawn—" I waved hesitantly as Sodapop eyed me "—needs to swap those trashed old clothes of his for the new ones so generously donated by the Keith Mathews Foundation, so he needs to use the bathroom for a sec. You guys _do_ have one here, right?"

Sodapop didn't look too keen on the idea. I looked over the station, and it was your very basic service station – a couple gas pumps, one garage station with a lift, and a small snack stand and vending machine with a cash register.

He said, "Well, we got one but it's _supposed_ to be employees only. I don't need that boss of mine gettin' on me for letting just anyone use it."

"Aw, c'mon. He'll be just a couple seconds. Right, Shawn?"

I nodded, and said, "Well, yeah."

Sodapop (I was still unsure if that was his real name or a nickname) finally said, as though it were dragged out of him, "Yeaaaaaah… okay. It's still early, about ten o'clock, I think. Get movin', Shawn. Me and Two-Bit got some talkin' to do when I come back to fill his gas tank. Right, Two-Bit? Payin' customer and all, huh?"

I didn't need to be told twice to get out of the car and hoof it into the little shop. Sodapop grabbed a key from a shelf underneath the mechanical cash register (a _mechanical_ cash register!), unlocked a nondescript wooden door opposite the counter, and pointed me in. I dashed inside, closed the door, and changed my clothes. My socks were a write-off. I chucked them in the garbage and wore the shoes as-is. The undershirt and pants weren't too bad of a fit, and the checkered shirt was only a tad larger than my usual size. I bundled my old clothes up, stepped out of the room, then went back out to Two-Bit's car.

At the car, Sodapop was putting the gas cap back on the car, saying, "Okay. That's… _two_ measly gallons. Pay up, buster."

Two-Bit made a big production out of the one-dollar bill he was handing to Sodapop, who exasperatedly grabbed it and went to make change out of the till. Two-Bit nodded at me, and said, "Get back in the car, wouldya? Gotta get you movin' here."

I nodded and got back into the passenger seat, and then for the first time, remembered the seat belt. I automatically reached back for it, and then, when I didn't find the shoulder belt, tried finding the lap belt, and then it hit me that they hadn't put seat belts in cars yet. All of a sudden I felt oddly naked, not having a seat belt around me when in a car.

Sodapop dropped a few coins into Two-Bit's hand, then said, "See ya later, all right?"

Two-Bit nodded, then got in the car. He wore a look of concentration as he turned the key, then grinned as the car started up again. "Hey, Shawn, you must be my good-luck charm! Car ain't given me trouble starting since you sat in it."

I grinned, shaking my head in amusement, letting the seat belt thing fade in my mind as the car accelerated out of the DX station's lot, and we trundled on down the road, passing by more shops. We approached an area of the city that seemed vaguely familiar, and Two-Bit said, "This here's the start of the Ribbon. See that place just over to the right where we're headed? That's the Dingo."

As he spoke, we turned in to the lot. The place was a hive of activity; I'd never seen an honest-to-god drive-in restaurant before, and I was captivated by the sight of cars being served by waiters or waitresses just like my dad said they used to do. This was seriously _cool_. Inside there was a dine-in area, and it was pretty crowded in there too.

As I got out of the car I saw two guys fighting near a 1957 Chevy, and some onlookers were cheering the fighters on. Two-Bit came around and said, "Hey, we can stay out here or go inside. Up to you."

I figured I'd be a bit safer inside, but was concerned about bad stuff happening so I said, "Is it safe to leave your car here if we go in?"

Two-Bit just gave me the hairy eyeball and grabbed my shirt briefly to pull me in the direction of the entrance. We walked inside, and managed to grab a table. Although I hadn't eaten anything that morning I didn't want to put Two-Bit out, and just asked for a coffee when a bored waitress came by and asked what we wanted; the sign in the window said a cup was ten cents.

Two-Bit lifted his eyebrow at me and said, "Give this guy some real food with that coffee. Scrambled eggs, bacon, grits and toast, how about it?" I sort of stared like a deer caught in a car's headlights and nodded.

Two-Bit laughed and then gave his own order, and the girl left. I recovered enough to say, "Shit, Two-Bit, you know I don't have any money. I don't wanna put you out."

He waved that off and said, "Forget about it. I'm buyin' on this one and you ain't gonna say me nay."

I gave up, and just stared out the window at the people milling around outside between cars I never dreamed I'd see in functional condition. Everybody seemed to know someone else, and I was struck by a feeling of melancholy. I sighed, and hoped I'd be able to one day be like them. What was that expression? _Footloose and fancy free…_

Two-Bit's hand waving in front of my face got my attention. I had been so captivated by the people and what they wore, and how they acted, that I'd completely forgotten where I was. I blushed and said, "Sorry. I was distracted."

"Yeah, I could see that. Listen, I need to tell you somethin' about this place. I shoulda told you before we came in, but I just got the idea to show you around after I got you your clothes and stopped at the DX. 'Kay, you see them guys who were fighting out there before?"

I nodded.

"They were fightin' skin on skin, that's fists, that's okay. Cops expect that stuff. They'll just break up the guys fightin' and tell 'em to take it somewhere else, if they show up.

"But if you ever come here, alone or with anyone and you see people using knives, get out of here. Cops ain't gonna care who's who. They'll just start clubbing anyone who even looks like they're part of the fight and you don't wanna spend a couple hours explaining to some fuzz down at the police station that you ain't even got a knife never mind know how to use one."

Wow. People seemed to play rough in this place, even by 2005 standards. My momentary escape into the dreamworld of the 1960s crashed into the reality that not everyone who lived in it had an easy go at life.

I still had trouble grasping the notion of people fighting so openly over who knew what, and it was kind of like trying to swallow something you've bitten way too much of. Didn't go down easily.

When the waitress brought our coffees, I was about to put the cream and sugar in when I caught Two-Bit giving me the hairy eyeball again. I said, "What?"

He said, "Never knew anyone to actually put milk or cream in coffee, but there's a first time for everything." He looked at his own black coffee with, I thought, a considerable amount of complacency.

I said, "Where I come from it's not all that unusual for people to put milk or cream in their coffee."

And so saying, I poured the cream in, mixed in some sugar, and drank the stuff. It wasn't bad, as coffee went. Two-Bit was shaking his head as he drank his coffee. The same waitress came back with our meals, and I dug in. I hadn't realized how famished I was until I looked up and saw Two-Bit signalling to me to slow down.

I'd cleared half the scrambled eggs and all the bacon inside of about a minute, apparently. I resolved to slow down and take my time with the funny things they called "grits" and my toast.

As I ate more methodically, Two-Bit said, "Hey, speakin' of which, where ya from, anyway? Bill said you didn't sound local, so I was wonderin'."

_Oh, crap. Crappity crap __**crap!**_

As I floundered about for something to say (announcing that I was Canadian would be highly likely to red-flag me around this Tulsa place, I figured), Two-Bit's eyes narrowed just a bit. I blurted, "North Dakota."

The only thing I knew at all about that place was that it was south of Manitoba and probably got wicked cold in the winter.

Two-Bit seemed to roll that around in his mind some, then his expression cleared. He said, "Aw, what the hell. You runnin' away, somethin' like that?"

I nodded, not daring to trust my ability to lie my way out of this.

Two-Bit shrugged. I wondered what _his_ situation was if he could so casually assume it was perfectly normal for a teenager to end up several hundred (or thousand? I needed to do some research) miles away from where he allegedly lived before.

I finished my meal about the same time Two-Bit did; he'd ordered himself up a hamburger and fries. He paid up, as promised. The whole thing had only come to five bucks, anyway.

I'd been thinking about my money situation and I wondered if anyone would hire me with no identification – and preferably pay me in cash. Back home I'd done some odd jobs for people (mowing the lawn, that sort of thing), and I had friends with part-time jobs so I felt I knew the score.

When we got back in the car, I said, "Hey.. um, can we drive around and find some of the places that'll hire kids like me?"

Two-Bit cocked his eyebrow, shrugged, and said, "Sure. Though I ain't gonna be joinin' you inside the hiring hall or anything, you realize."

I chuckled, and went around to the passenger seat, with Two-Bit following on the driver's side shortly afterwards. Once again, the car started without fail, and we began driving around town. For a guy who proclaimed, in the car, that working wasn't his style, Two-Bit seemed to know the places that were hiring.

* * *

Author Notes:

Hey, all :) Once again thanks go to Artemis for the beta work. :) I will try to have a fairly frequent update frequency, but there may be gaps when I will have to wait on my estimable beta, but rest assured the chapters you see will be well worth the wait. Thanks all who reviewed, even if I didn't reply using the reply function. :)

FlaminSquirrelz caught a mistake with Two-Bit's last name. I fixed that. :)


	5. Getting a Job, Meeting the Curtises

**Unplanned Journey**  
Chapter 5 (Getting a Job, Meeting the Curtises)

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

- - -

At any rate, it turned out, some stores, the rail yard, a grain elevator, and a couple of smaller factories were hiring, but nobody was around who would talk to me. They all said the personnel guy wasn't in (I once made the mistake of asking for "Human Resources", and I got the hairy eyeball for my trouble, and a "Around here, we say PERSONNEL, kid. Get outta here!").

Or the boss would be busy, or whatever. I suspected they just didn't want to hire a kid and risk getting nailed by some state agency or other; maybe the child labor laws were strict?

Finally we ended up over at a sawmill on the eastern edge of town. I got out of the car, and Two-Bit nodded at me, indicating he'd wait. I walked into the office, and luck was with me, as I accidentally bumped into a guy wearing a white hard hat and red reflective jacket.

It turned out later that he was the shift supervisor and was pretty well-connected with the rest of the mill staff, so he could pull strings if need be.

I hadn't previously outlined my exact situation with the others; I'd just said I needed a job, and, well, I forgot my wallet and so on (in retrospect, it _did_ sound kind of lame). With this guy, I went through the same spiel and then, sensing I might get farther with him, said, "Look, I'll work any shift and I'll work for cash. I kinda don't have a fixed address right now, and I need to get some money."

At first he looked surprised, and then grinned. He said, "Okay, kid. What's your name?"

I introduced myself, shook his hand, and he told me his name was Jerry Ressler. He looked about forty-five, stocky, with graying blond hair at the temples.

He looked thoughtful for a second and said, "All right. Tell you what. We're putting on a third shift because the spring cutting season's just starting and we're getting wood in from Kansas as well as from Arkansas. The third shift, as you might guess, is a graveyard.

"I'll get it straightened out with payroll; most guys these days get pay checks, but there's some that want cash still, like they did twenty years ago during the war, so it won't look strange if you get cash in an envelope. There just won't be any pay stub in it. Payday for the cash guys is every week; we do this because it keeps the amount of cash down in this office. Nothing like a robbery to ruin a business. You stop by here—" and he pointed to a room which had a window open to the outside. Clearly someone stood inside and could pass things out of the window. As we walked around to the other side, I saw the sign over the window reading "PAYMASTER".

"As you see, you pick up your money here. Payday's Friday. You'll get your money after you get off your Thursday eleven to seven shift, as that's Friday morning. You got that?"

I nodded.

He continued on. "I'll start you out as a green chain puller. Come on out this way. I'll show you around a little bit."

He guided me away from the office and towards the sawmill structure proper. Having lived in British Columbia I had a vague notion of the importance these kinds of mills had for my province, but had never seen one before. So I was a bit perplexed when Jerry stopped, and pointed to an oblong roofed-over section of the mill, which had a bunch of guys equally spaced near stacks of lumber behind them, standing in front of a raised shelf of sorts that came to about waist high.

I grasped the point in a flash as I saw one of them reach for one of the boards that was slowly moving along this large raised shelf-like area, and start pulling it towards him, past his hip, and down onto the wood stack. All this took only a few seconds, and then I noticed all the guys were picking certain pieces of lumber, and pulling them off this "green chain". One guy near the beginning of the oblong open-air section was scribbling on each piece of lumber as it went by. Jerry told me that guy was the "lumber grader". You had to have a certificate or something to be one.

I walked closer, and saw that there were about five metal chains with rollers on them, each about five feet apart, which carried the wood along past the green chain pullers. Any wood they didn't pull from the chain went off the end and into a waste pile.

Some of the guys wore gloves. Others didn't. It seemed to be a matter of personal preference, but Jerry abruptly left me, and chewed one of the guys out. He came back, and pushed me firmly back in the direction of the office. I didn't want to ask what had happened, but my curiosity was killing me.

Finally, just as we were about to re-enter the office, I had to ask. "What was that all about?"

He sighed and said, "Well, you saw the guy I was chewing out. He forgot his earplugs and was working without 'em. As you see we don't care if the guys use gloves or not. You, by the way, will wear gloves. I insist on it. These guys will work here for the next twenty-five years and get calluses on their hands and not care. You, on the other hand, don't strike me as someone who really wants to spend the rest of your life in this mill.

"But we insist on earplugs. Can't have a guy going deaf because then it means he can't hear if something's wrong. Your shift supervisor – who may or may not be me – will chew your ass something fierce if you forget your earplugs. We give them away here, so there's no excuse for not having earplugs. If you want to go to earmuffs, we can let you have a pair, but it gets really stinking hot in the summer and your ears will sweat like crazy. Your choice, kid."

"All right. When do I start?"

"You're lucky I was even in on a Saturday, actually. Normally we're shut down on the weekend but we put on one shift today to clear some of our extra logs. You look a little bit banged up, but I think you'll do fine. Come back here Sunday night at eleven PM. Bring a lunch or something to eat. There's nothing open out here late at night.

"You get a break every couple of hours plus a half-hour lunch in the middle. We run eight-hour shifts normally but the boss is thinking of going to this crazy twelve-hour shift thing. I personally don't like the idea because it creates even more havoc with guys' schedules, but the boss is the boss, you know.

"You'll also find your social life, if you have one, will be nil. Enjoy yourself, kid." He winked.

I took a chance, asking, "Why are you being so nice to me? All the other places I went to wouldn't even give me a second look."

Jerry said, "Well, kid. I'll level with you. We're short of workers and there's just not too many people that want to screw up their lives pulling graveyards. You need money, we need workers. Also… well, maybe I'll explain later."

We shook hands, and I left the office, excited yet scared, as I walked back to Two-Bit's car and got in. As I sat down I thrust my fist in the air and yelled, "Yes! I GOT IT!"

"Well, don't expect me to be all thrilled. See these hands? They ain't made for workin'." Two-Bit cocked his eyebrow at me as I giggled, and I was grinning like an idiot as we rode out of the parking lot.

On the road, Two-Bit seemed to come to a decision, and said, "I gotta stop by some friends of mine. Might as well introduce you since it seems like you'll be stayin' in town a while."

Not sure what to say, I made an indistinct noise at the back of my throat and stared out the window.

- - -

Before long, we ended up parking in front of a one-floor brown house. It was fairly nondescript; had a chain-link fence surrounding the front with a metal entry gate. The neighborhood generally looked a bit poorer, a bit more run-down, than I remember my old neighborhood being; the houses a bit less freshly-painted, some of the cars not maintained as well as they could have been.

Something about the area struck me as vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Even as I was thinking all this, Two-Bit was already out of the car, forcing me to scramble out of it to try and catch up to him as he rushed up the concrete walkway to the front door of the house. Not waiting for anybody to actually answer, he opened the door and barged in, yelling, "Hey, y'all. Got someone here who flew in from nowhere."

A new voice drifted out the door. "Yeah, sure, Two-Bit Mathews... oh, you did." That's when I'd walked in the door, and took in the view.

In the kitchen - the smallest damn kitchen I'd ever seen - one guy was cutting up a chocolate cake, and then it clicked. He was that Sodapop guy that I'd briefly met earlier that morning!

Two other people who I didn't know were sitting at the table, eating their own slices of cake. One was sort of skinny, with light brown hair. The other was well-built, with darker brown hair, and he looked like he could take apart anything with just his bare hands.

They all stared at me, and then the skinny guy sitting at the table, who looked like he was the youngest, said, "Glory, Two-Bit, who's this guy?"

Smiling, Two-Bit said, "This here's Shawn. Hey, what's your last name, anyway?"

Automatically, I said, "Daggett."

Then I could have kicked myself. I had the perfect chance to come up with a completely new name and identity! Alas.

But Two-Bit was continuing. "Shawn Daggett, ya remember Sodapop, I hope. The other two here're Darry and Ponyboy. All three of these guys are the Curtis brothers. Good friends of mine."

Two-Bit had pointed at each of the guys as he announced their names, and it turned out that the skinny one was Ponyboy (!) and Darry (who apparently had the only normal name) was the oldest, followed by Sodapop and then Ponyboy.

Darry said, "And you brought this fella over just to introduce us? That ain't exactly usual here, y'know."

"Yeah, but… lookit, can we talk privately?"

Darry gave me a searching look, and then nodded his head over to the rear of the house. Two-Bit followed, and their footsteps died away. Nervously, I looked around and wondered if this wasn't going to be more trouble than it was worth.

Sodapop said, "Hey there, Shawn. You look kinda worried; sit down, we don't bite."

Grinning, he ushered me to a seat at the table, resumed his seat and cake, then said, "Hey, what's your story, anyway?"

Hesitantly, I began talking. "Well, it kind of is a bit weird. Um, basically I came into town—" I tried to remember my very improvised back story that had evolved over the course of my first day in 1966 "—um, from North Dakota, and I didn't have a wallet or anything. Didn't have any shoes either. So I kind of walked around this place, and got beat up by a couple guys named Curly and Carl, then Two-Bit over there found me and walked me to this clinic so I could get patched up. Later on, I ended up bumping into him again when a guy named Bill kept me from getting roughed up again over by…where was it? Tiber something."

Ponyboy broke in, saying, "Tiber Street."

That triggered my memory, and I said, "Yeah, that was it. Tiber Street. Near this Ribbon thing. Anyway, that's when Two-Bit helped get me these clothes I'm wearing and I got a job. Um, it's cash under the table at a sawmill but I'd appreciate if you didn't report me for it."

The two guys across from me looked faintly scandalized, as though I'd said something rude.

Sodapop's voice was flat as he said, "I dunno how things worked in North Dakota, but around here we don't assume a perfect stranger's gonna squeal to the nearest cop, and I'd appreciate it if you kept that in mind here."

Abashed, I mumbled, "Sorry," and lamely cast about for a way to change the subject. "Um, what do you guys do for school or work?"

Ponyboy said, "Well, I'm in tenth grade at school, and Sodapop here works full time over at the DX. Darry works a couple of jobs; one of them's construction, and the other's night guard at a warehouse. Our parents died a few months ago."

I didn't know what to say to that, except, "Um."

Heavy footsteps from the hallway interrupted that awkward moment as Darry said, "All right. Two-Bit here says you're okay. We'll get you started out around here, but you're gonna need to find your own sleeping spot for tonight. So, if you come on over here to the door I'll point out some things.

"OK, if you go _that_ way you'll end up at a grassy lot we play football in and stuff. Sometimes people sleep there, too. If you go down this street here and turn right you'll end up on Sutton. That'll take you to a diner and grocery store at the corner and from there you can get buses downtown and so on. Anyway, it's almost time for supper and we gotta eat. Mind coming over tomorrow or something like that?"

Even as I was still getting used to the idea of actually living in a completely different place, I wasn't stupid enough to miss a polite dismissal when I heard one. I put my hand on the screen door and said, "Thanks for the orientation; I'll find my way somewhere and sleep."

I then pushed the door open, waved good-bye, rather perfunctorily, to the four guys and then walked to the gate. As I opened it, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I looked to my right and saw Ponyboy, apparently having rushed out to accost me before I started off somewhere. He said, "Hey. Listen, um… I don't go to church any more but the priest there might be able to help you. It can't hurt, right?"

I nodded and said, "Sure. Where is it?"

I got directions from Ponyboy and decided there was as good a place as any, so I began walking; unfortunately the sky had gone overcast and the sun was close to setting. I began to shiver as the temperature dropped, and I was very happy to end up at the church doors.

I banged on the solid oak door, noticing it didn't so much as budge. I waited for someone, anyone, to open the doors. Nobody answered. Finally, after some minutes of trying to brave the increasingly worsening weather, I gave up and tried the door just as it began to pour rain.

* * *

Author Notes:

Thanks go to Artemis for the beta work and to you reviewers for reviewing. :)


	6. The First Day Winds Down

**Unplanned Journey**  
Chapter 6 (The First Day Winds Down)

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to S. E. Hinton.

- - -

To my surprise, the door actually opened when I turned the large handle, and I hesitantly stepped inside. I tried to close the door as quietly as I could, and it shut with a dull _thunk_.

I turned towards the front of the church, where an old wooden podium and a long table holding some burning candles sat on a raised area, kind of like a stage – I suspected that was the altar. I noticed a container of water to my right, and near it a wooden box with a slit in the top, located just down the hall. I slowly walked past row after row of pews flanked with stained glass windows and holy sculptures that stood in recessed shelves between the windows. The indirect lighting bathed the whole church in soft light, adding to the weighty ambience of the situation.

Not having been particularly religious back home, I had no idea what I should do. I settled for sitting in the pew closest to the altar, and taking stock.

_Okay. I'm in 1966, in a place called Tulsa, Oklahoma. As best as I remember it, Oklahoma's near Texas. Maybe. This means I'm at least a thousand kilometers away, if not more, from Vancouver. I've got a job, but I have no place to live. Since I'm wearing the same kind of clothes that Two-Bit and his compatriots were wearing, I can probably pass for at least somewhat-normal where it counts._

A calmly authoritative voice startled me. "Are you in need of some help?"

I whipped around in the pew to find the priest standing in the main aisle a few feet away from me.

He was tall, silver-haired, and wore a gown or frock or whatever they called it, which looked identical to the ones I'd seen on some Roman Catholic priests when their pictures got in the news for less-than-savory activities. Unbidden, the thought raced through my head that since I was in the 1960s when all these things actually happened…

I tried to quell that and talk normally. "Um… yeah. I got rolled when I came into town and, uh, I have no place to stay."

The priest said, "Hm. Well, it's a bit short notice, but I think I can find a place for you tonight. As for beyond that, I don't know. If you would wait here while I make a few telephone calls?"

I nodded, and waited while he disappeared through a doorway near the altar. I heard the priest's indistinct voice sporadically sounding through the door, but I picked up nothing useful. Finally, after several minutes, he re-entered the large hall and made his way to my pew. I stood up as he approached, smiling slightly.

"I have good news. By the way, I'm Father Tracey Jones. And you are?"

Hesitantly, I stuck my hand out, saying, "Shawn. Uh, Shawn Daggett."

His hand didn't feel weird or anything, and he released his grip at an appropriate time. I began to breathe a bit easier.

"All right, Shawn – I've just found out the YMCA has a few beds open. They're fifty cents a night. While I was on the telephone, I noticed the wind's picked up some; since the weather's bad I'll give you a ride over. Here's a dollar to tide you over until you get on your feet."

A bit gobsmacked, I mechanically took the dollar bill and stuck it in my jeans pocket. Father Jones turned around, and I followed as we passed the altar, went through the same door I'd seen him go through before, which turned out to lead into a hallway that passed by his office, and we exited into a small parking lot.

The sun had gone down, and the weather was, as advertised, awful. Rain flew down in sheets, and the wind gusted fitfully. We made a mad dash for the priest's old two-door Pontiac, which looked to be from the 1930s or 1940s. The engine caught when he started the car, and confidently, the man took the wheel and began threading his way through the inclement weather. We left the residential area behind and entered what seemed to be the downtown of Tulsa, with tall buildings in art deco style.

All in all, the drive probably didn't take more than twenty minutes. We stopped near an intersection, in front of a four-floor brick building. The corner street signs read "Fourth" and "Cincinnati". I got out, shut the door, and dashed for the protective cover of the awning. Father Jones then ran up after having shut off the car, and we went inside to find the desk clerk.

The formalities were over quickly. I paid over the dollar, confirmed that I had access to a bed for 48 hours, and shook hands with Father Jones, who had written the church's telephone number on a YMCA pamphlet. He gave me the pamphlet, then said, "Sometime soon, you should come to mass. It would be a good way for you to meet other members of the community. And call if you have any questions."

Uncertainly, I smiled, and then and there resolved not to go near that church if I could help it. Being put on the spot like that by someone proselytizing had never been one of my favorite pastimes.

After the priest left, the desk clerk led me up to the second floor. He stopped next to one door, numbered 306, and gave me the key he'd taken off the key rack while I was talking to Father Jones. He said, "Here's your key for this room. It has two bunk beds. There's very little privacy, and everybody knows this. Shower's down at the end of the hall. Laundry's next to it. If you don't turn in your key after 48 hours, you'll be expected to pay for an extra day. Any questions?"

I shook my head no, and unlocked the door as the clerk's footfalls echoed through the corridor. I turned on the light, and noticed that the room was quite small – perhaps six feet by ten. Just enough for a double bunk bed. Nobody was in either of the beds. I remembered the clock downstairs said it was seven o'clock, surprised at how drained I felt. I kicked off my shoes, got into the bottom bunk, slid under the covers, and heaved a relieved sigh. Not too long afterwards, I dropped straight off to sleep.

* * *

Author Notes:

Thanks go to Artemis and NittanyLizard for their excellent help and suggestions. :) Apologies for the short chapter; I felt this was a good stopping place in prep for the next chapter. :) The YMCA location is taken from the Tulsa YMCA's website regarding its historical development.


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